


On the Art of Seduction in a Bathrobe

by tenscupcake



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2070981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenscupcake/pseuds/tenscupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billie finds herself standing outside her fairly new costar's flat at the end of a week of filming, hoping to work through some recent awkwardness, but when David answers the door soaking wet from a shower and wearing naught but a bathrobe, her innocent plans are quickly derailed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Art of Seduction in a Bathrobe

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is basically PWP, and yes, it's practically guilt-free from my sort-of-AU fantasy world.  
> Inspired by the late-night musings between me and the lovely [Amber](http://shutupandlovetennant.tumblr.com) about the possibilities that could come of a freshly showered David in a (must be white) bathrobe.  
>  ~~I'm really sorry I keep getting distracted from CS~~

She raps her knuckles too hard against the door as she knocks, shaking her hand out for a few seconds while she plods away from the tiny circle of glass that would give her away. She had to though, dash up and bang on it rather than loiter about and hesitate or she’d have turned around and fled back to the cab.

“Coming!” she hears him yell from the other side of the door. Strange. Is he expecting someone? It’s certainly not her, if he is.

She’s chewing on her lip, wiping hands that are already clammy with sweat on her too-tight jeans, pretending she doesn’t need to steady her breathing. There’s two metallic clunks of a lock and the door’s swinging open too soon for her to consider how strung out she might look. An apology’s forming on his tongue but it freezes on his lips when he takes her in, and she mirrors his widened eyes because he’s sopping wet and wearing nothing but a pristine white bathrobe.

“Fuck, Bill,” he rasps out, voice low and gravelly as he swings the door mostly closed again, blocking any view inside with his body.

She’s silent as she rakes in his lanky frame, quite exposed. Only the important bits are precariously covered, really, as he only clutches at both halves of the material with one hand, two ends of the tie hanging near the floor. He’s barefoot, little pools of water on the wood floor of his entryway collecting around his toes. The robe hangs a little too open at the bottom, revealing ankles and knees and just a touch of inner thigh…

“I thought you were pizza.” His words churn through her head but they linger around as unprocessed nonsense, as her gaze quickly locks on to a few droplets of water at the base of his throat, following the beads as they trail down his exposed chest before disappearing beneath fluffy white cotton.

With an aggravated sigh he catches her line of sight, and it’s only when he lets go of the door that she sees he’s holding a wallet. Placing it between his teeth, he pulls the robe together tighter, closing the gap between his legs and covering most of the planes of his chest she was ogling at. Intertwining the two ends of the tie, he pulls tightly to lock the garment in place before freeing his mouth again.

“What is it?” he asks, hints of frustration and urgency in his tone. She blinks hard once, clearing her head at least momentarily.

“Pizza?” she asks, a stupid, delayed reaction his earlier statement suddenly registering as a coherent phrase.

“Yeah, I called it in, didn’t feel like cooking. Is something wrong?” he questions her again, talking too fast.

“No, I just…” she brushes a hand through her hair, struggling to explain herself to this David, the one who’s not giving her the respectful and undivided attention he normally does. He raises his eyebrows, lips parted just slightly, waiting for her to finish. Ok, so he’s upset. Quite right, she supposes, trying not to think about the fact that it was exactly what she feared on the ride over, exactly what she prayed he wouldn’t be on seeing her.

“Uhm…” She hesitates again, doing all she can to ignore the way he holds the door close to himself again to send his message better than words ever could.

“Look, Billie, now’s not really the best time.” She should turn and walk away but she can’t, her brain yells at her but her legs refuse.

“I just came to talk,” she says. But what was the honest truth on the route to his flat couldn’t be more of a lie now. Talking was the last thing she wanted to do with him now that he was in front of her and wet and would be unclothed with two simple steps – loosen the tie he’s just done, slip it off his shoulders til it falls to the ground…

“About what? Tuesday?” Yes, that day. When they were goofing off in his trailer as usual only a few hours after filming their first on-screen kiss, but before she knew it, they were picking up where the Doctor and the possessed Rose left off, snogging on his couch, copping feels like a couple of teenagers. And she’d left suddenly, saying something about sleeping with coworkers and leaving him disheveled and confused, alone on his couch. Suddenly she’s enticed just by the way ‘Tuesday’ rolls of his tongue and she can’t begin to fathom how she had the restraint to walk away the first time.

“Yeah,” she agrees, licking her lips. “Can I come in?”

“Ehm… I…” he wavers, eyes flitting from her face to his wet body a few times. She’s been waiting patiently for the weekend, to get through the awkwardness they’ve suffered through the remainder of the week, and she isn’t taking no for an answer.

“C’mon, please?” she begs, all innocent eyes as she shoves the lust briefly out of her smile. He doesn’t explicitly answer, just grunts as he swings open the door, allowing a space for her to walk through the frame. She rushes under his arm and watches him as he slams it shut behind her.

“Just let me go and put some clothes on,” he says, starting to walk towards the hall as she follows. “Take my wallet, ‘case the delivery bloke finally shows up.” He moves to hand her the wallet but she has no interest in it, her fingers closing around his wrist instead, gripping tighter as she tugs on it.

“Why? I quite like this.” She’s not put off by the shock and frustration in his eyes, the way his eyebrows pull together like she’s just said the most audacious thing. Quickly she slips off her flats and her feet slide gracefully across the floor, sprinkled with the water he’s trailing everywhere, and her hand finds a spot to rest on his shoulder. With hardly a push and a few delicate steps she has him against the nearest wall as she trails her hand down the plush white fabric, smoothing fresh droplets of water into the soft threads. She breathes him in, a hint of cinnamon under the fresh, almost tingling scent of his body wash, and, leaning in a bit closer, the woodsy musk of aftershave. It’s better than she remembers it from three days before, because it’s fresh and he’s still radiating steam and she can’t stop herself anymore.

The wallet hits the floor with the jingling of change as she tilts her head up to capture his eyes, his expression transformed from confused to awestruck as he gapes at her in anticipation, shaky breaths coming from his half-open mouth. With little effort she reaches up to take that tempting bottom lip between hers, tongue swiping over the silky, distended pout, urgent, almost possessive, his gasp of surprise only spurring her on. Dropping his wrist, her hand greedily slips between the fabric of the robe at his chest, palm meeting warm, damp skin as her fingers curl over the smattering of hair.

“Thought you wanted to talk?” he breathes as he pries his mouth from hers, pushing slightly with a hand on her shoulder.

“Later,” she insists, sliding her hand across his neck to course through his wet hair as she brings his mouth back down on hers.

It takes him a moment but his hands find her waist to align their hips, his stiff jaw relaxes as his lips synchronize with hers and he properly kisses her back. Droplets of water tickle her fingers as they comb through his dripping hair, nails just grazing his scalp, and she realizes as she ruffles through it that the sweet cinnamon smell must be his shampoo. It mingles quite nicely with the smooth, almost minty musk of the aftershave under her nose and she moans against his mouth, hungry for more assaults on her senses.

He separates them again with hands on her hips.

“Bill, you’re the one who – ”

“Shut up, Dave,” she interrupts with a desperate, impatient whisper. She’s the one who what? Left? Initiated the kiss on Tuesday? Whatever it was it didn’t matter right now, what mattered was this, right now, his lips against hers and soon more skin against skin and groans meeting sighs…

Catching the hunger in her eyes, he hardly has time to nod before she’s kissing him again and he matches her aggression this time, a firm hand cradling her face, massaging his thumb over her cheek until she surrenders control to his lips. His tongue strokes along her own, hand tightening on her waist while the hand on her face reaches back until his fingers thread through her hair. Before she can protest he’s pushing off the wall, stepping forward with caution and she follows with hesitance, taking a blind step backward to match his.

She remembers the couch, the sleek, black leathery one nearest them, it must only be ten feet from this wall if they just…

She tries to shuffle her feet back faster but she’s forgotten about the tiny puddles of water David’s dripping had made, and her heel slips on one as she gasps into his kiss, foot sliding clear between his.

Before her arse can consider hitting the hardwood floor, he hooks his arm around her back, catching her weight easily as their mouths part, and she pulls her leg out from between his, her slippery foot feeling out a dry patch in the wood next to his.

“Got you.” He flashes her a smug smile, the stupid, knight-in-shining-armor bastard.

“Thanks,” she chuckles to shrug off the embarrassment, and can’t help returning his innocent smile, after all.

He takes her hands this time as he kisses her, backs her into the couch with slow, steady steps, but then his hands are on her waist again as he hoists her up onto the leather. She matches his movements, opening her legs the same moment he steps between them. His hands roam down to her arse as his mouth descends on her neck but she only craves more, to lose the layers of clothing between his hands and her skin.

It’s not strange, though she’s known him only a handful of weeks, and he’s a bloody coworker, for Christ’s sake. With anyone else she’d call him a stranger and she’d call this a one-off, a fling between mates, but with David it’s… different. It feels right, like the gears in their fledgling relationship finally clunking out the last of their stickiness, and it feels like it’ll last forever, the smooth sailing. She only wonders why they waited this long. Why the hell she left his trailer the first time.

She tilts her head back to encourage him, her hands burying in his wet hair as he tastes her between searing, wet kisses down her throat, humming an echo of each of her little moans into her neck. His teeth scrape her skin as he sucks lightly just above the neckline of her shirt, he reaches up to hook his fingers around the fabric, tugging down to grant himself better access, but she stops him. He looks up, confused, but she guides his hand to the bottom of her top, hooking his fingers around that hem instead and pulls on his arm.

She lifts her arms as he pulls it over her head and her fingers are at the clasp of her bra before he can reach for it, shrugging her shoulders until the straps fall down her arms, and David does the rest, one finger around the flimsy strap between her breasts and a tug towards her stomach to free them. He tosses the garment behind him and she feels exposed with his robe still covering too much skin.

She slips a hand under the tie that he didn’t knot, gives it a gentle pull while he’s distracted staring at the newly exposed, creamy rounds of flesh. Both ends fall to his sides again and the robe passively falls open, revealing a line of naked skin from his throat over his chest and stomach to… _oh_. He chuckles when he notices her line of sight.

“What, not what you were expecting?”

“No, it’s… I think I have a nickname for you.” Oh, he’s going to just salivate over this but she can’t resist.

“What?” he asks as his hands roam down the bare curves of her sides, making her shiver while he’s still just gazing at her breasts with a stupid grin like he’s just had two glasses of wine. Pushing the flowing halves of the robe aside, her hands grab onto his overheated, damp skin at his waist as she pulls him closer.

“David Ten-inch,” she whispers, one hand smoothing over his hipbone until she can close her hand around the inspiration for the epithet, and a small whimper escapes her lips because, Christ, he’s rigid and searing hot already and it’s gorgeous around her palm. He groans out a sort of garbled cross between ‘fuck’ and ‘ahhh’ as his head falls onto her shoulder, his fingertips digging into her skin.

“You don’t like it?” she teases.

“I like it, I – shhhhh – ” he’s cut off again as she strokes him hard and long, tugging as she reaches his tip, lingering moisture from the shower acting as a crude lubricant. David’s not one for cursing, as far as she’s seen, and it seems like he’s censoring himself, whether for her sake or not she can’t tell. But she needs him to cut loose, tear down his walls and untie the restraints, because she knows she’s already lost her own.

Instead, he tugs her hand away from him, quickly ducking down out of her reach so his mouth can reach her breasts. His lips close around her nipple, smooth and silky rippling to firm and pebbled under gentle swirls of his tongue and she calls his name (the proper one) as her hands latch onto his hair, encouraging the technique. There’s anxious fingers just above her crotch, fumbling with a snug button that may as well be sewed on but she’ll let him struggle because god, he knows how to use that gorgeous tongue of his.

He manages to unclasp the button and his mouth moves to her other breast, this time sucking gently as his lips smooth over her center, and her hips rock into his hand as she whines for more. The zip clunks open slowly, catching every few millimeters, but his fingers are there to appease her in her impatience, pressing and teasing along the seam of the trousers with any fingers not preoccupied with the recalcitrant metal.

The tip of his tongue flicks her nipple and she’s done for, pleading with whispers for incoherent desires he can’t satisfy while that fucking zip is still stuck. Batting away his hands she forces the halves apart with her own, and sure enough there’s a clinking sound signaling the zip’s broken off but she’s only relieved.

His mouth retreats from her breast with a second swirl from his tongue, leaving her too sensitive and tingling against the open air. Sensing her urgency his fingers dig into her pockets to try to drag them off, but it’s no use, damn these stupid skinny jeans. Dipping her thumbs under both the jeans and her knickers, she pushes down and wiggles her hips, but realizes quickly that’s a terrible idea. She quickly loses balance on the rounded, smoothed leather and she’s falling back onto the cushions in an instant, despite David’s hands flailing in attempts to catch her again.

She managed to shove her bottoms off halfway down her thighs in the process of falling, and she’s completely unharmed, as her head lands safety into the thick, plush cushion of the thankfully wide seat. All she can do is laugh, at herself, at David leaning over the couch asking if she’s alright, at the way his head’s between her calves and all the intimate bits are on choice display for him.

Swiveling her bum, she lays her legs across the armrest of the couch, leaving an open invitation as David rushes around to meet her. She’s still giggling at the silliness of it when his hands grip her arse and he’s pulling her closer, up onto the armrest. His chuckles have died down but he’s still smiling warmly, and she’s got a bubbly feeling he’s as comfortable with her as she feels with him, and she takes the briefest moment to cherish the rare feeling before he makes his next move.

His elbows nudge her knees further apart as he drops down to her level, and the soft wet sounds as she opens for him tells her she’s as wet as she feels. He hums his appreciation as his hands slide down the insides of her thighs, fingertips leaving gooseflesh in their wake until he’s just there, fingers dipping into the slick moisture. They both make inarticulate mumbled noises but they harmonize anyway, too well, as she watches his eyelids droop lazily at the feeling.

She scoots forward, pushing into his touch, but he takes it away; she grumbles but he shushes her, leaning forward as his other hand joins in to part her lips, and then it’s his mouth on her, and _ohhh_ , _fuck_ he’s so good.

His lips vibrate as he hums out a muffled laugh against her, heightening the sensation, and she realizes she said the last bit out loud.

It’s hard not to watch him with the way her hips are still situated on the armrest, and it’s almost spellbinding as he moves and watches her, exacerbating the lightheadedness already forming from the blood rushing to her head.

The way his hair sticks up wildly in every direction from her hands coursing through it, a few still damp strands dark against the insides of her thighs, tickling her skin. The way his fingertips make little depressions in her flesh while his thumbs still part her folds, giving him any and all access he could ask for. The way the tip of his nose brushes through the dark tufts of hair when he zeroes in on her clit, the way his eyes are dark and only promising more as they lock onto her face, watching his name ghost from her lips through her sighs. But his eyes, too, flutter closed each time he touches her clit because, oh, he _knows_ what he’s doing to her.

First it’s the flat of his tongue, rough and warm between soft, smooth lips as he slowly tastes her back and forth, leaving none of her delicate inner folds undiscovered. Then it’s the slick, pointed tip, narrowing his focus now, tracing wide, messy rings around her clit until she’s begging him with his name again. The rings get smaller, the pressure point tighter until his tongue just swipes over the oversensitive bundle and she can’t help rocking her hips up even more, chasing friction.

But he stops.

She cries out pathetically as her folds are left empty, his tongue retreating to his mouth as he lifts his head. His lips are dark pink and glistening with her moisture and she regains some semblance of control, knowing what she needs more than anything now is to taste those lips again while he moves inside her.

“Come here,” she tries for a demand but it comes out as a quiet plea because her muscles have completely gelatinized and her head’s spinning from his maddening performance.

He only just acknowledges her with a silent, subtle nod before attending to more important matters. Like her trousers, which are still bundled up at her knees. He makes short work of both layers, kissing a wet, sloppy trail down her leg as the (thankfully) smooth skin is revealed to him.

He stands, and all ten inches of his new namesake are standing, too, just within the opening of the robe as it billows closed and she grins uncontrollably. His returning smile is brief, quickly replaced by a look of frustration as his forehead creases and he frowns instead.

“Do I need…” he trails off before looking down at himself.

“No, never went off the pill after my ex… uhm, it’s too tough to keep going off and on and – ”

She doesn’t get to finish her explanation as he leaps up, climbing onto the armrest between her legs easily and she quickly scoots back to accommodate him, pulling her weight back on her elbows. He crawls between her legs as she moves, hands land on either side of her ribcage as he hovers over her, waiting, his warm, solid length skimming her thigh with each movement. Her head finally pushes back against the opposite armrest and his mouth crashes down onto hers as he gently lowers himself onto her, hips and chests aligning as that damn robe he’s still wearing cloaks them both and he’s just there, his length teasing the apex of her thighs, brushing softly along the seam of her sex, teasing.

She can’t take it and she bucks her hips until he slips between her folds, sliding messily through the slick skin until he slides over her clit and she moans into his mouth, her nails digging into his back even through the plush robe as she grinds up again. Frantically they try to recreate the moment, she wriggles all the ways she can think of to make him hit that spot again but it’s not working. Sensing her impatience, he lifts off her slightly, his lips never leaving hers but he leaves space between their bodies and it makes him slide out of her folds completely.

She whimpers into his lips but then his hand’s there, leading himself back in and she thinks he’s going to glide into her heat but he slips between her folds again, manually touches her in the perfect spot, the hypersensitive nub she’s been aiming for. His kisses grow slower, less frenzied as his hand guides his length in circles over her clit, and she has to break from the sensual tastes of his lips for reprieve, whispering something about some deity in his ear as his mouth moves to her neck instead, groaning his own pleasure against her skin.

The blissful torture continues for only a few seconds before she needs more.

“Dave, please,” she moans.

“What do you want?” he whispers, dangerously conceited as he lifts his head, brown eyes bristling with lust captivate hers and he’s still driving her insane with his unhurried, deliberate circles.

“Inside me… I want you…” she barely gasps out, on the brink of incoherency again as she spirals toward her peak.

“God, I want you,” he responds, his hand finally guiding his member to her entrance, pushing into her hot, pulsing heat and she can taste the way their noisy groans mingle in the heated air between them. “Wanted you for so long…” He buries himself deep inside her, pausing while she adjusts, expands to accommodate him, and she thinks about how they’ve only known each other a few weeks and he must’ve been thinking about her even before they met and she nearly comes undone at the thought.

He kisses her again and it’s loving and tender but desperate, a hand roaming up her stomach, palming her breast before it comes to rest on the couch, too, giving him added support. He’s lingered too long without moving and she circles her hips, urging him to move.

Parting their lips, he eases back at last, nearly pulling out of her before thrusting back in, full and hard and his head drops to the crook of her neck as he cries out. He sets up a messy rhythm, lips meeting hers with each thrust at first but they both know it means he’s too slow and it won’t do for either of them. His speed picks up as they exchange kisses for groans and her hands wriggle under the fabric of the robe, wrapping around his back to cling to the naked skin beneath, legs bending further to take him in deeper, fluffy cotton brushing over her knees each time he moves.

She’s urging him on with quiet encouragements between wet kisses on his neck, but when he hears his name again he loses much of his patient control. He looks up to watch her as he starts rutting into her harder, faster, her breath coming out in a gasp each time his hips bump against her. The smooth leather’s exposing itself as rough and it’s getting sticky with her sweat, starting to burn her backside creak as it’s stretched with each rock of their bodies.

“Bills, I…” he whispers between desperate grunts and moans. She realizes he’s close too late, he’s too far gone and he shudders as his climax overpowers him, his thrusts erratic and rushed as he chases the crests of pleasure, his face contorting beautifully in release as the most lovely sounds fill her ears. Riding out a few aftershocks, he finally stills, shivering beneath the brushes of her fingertips down his back and instantly remorse crosses his face.

Whispering something resembling an apology, his hand snakes between them because he must see in her eyes, how she was already at the precipice and his shaking and groaning nearly pushed her over the edge but not quite, she just needs a little more…

Two fingers are just there, rubbing tight circles into her clit as his mouth lowers, tongue swirling over her skin before sucking lightly at the base of her neck and it’s all she needs. She writhes under his thumb, clenching around him softening inside her and breathing his name in his ear again through breathy moans as she comes hard, rubbing herself harder into his hand. He’s whispering all the affirmatives she can imagine against her neck as he carries her through her peak, her legs shaking as wave after wave of searing, tingling pleasure courses from her center down to her toes, up through her spine.

He slips out of her when she stills and quiets, lays with her in the sated peace that follows her climax while his lips brush tenderly against hers.

“Don’t think I’ve ever shagged a bloke in a robe,” she teases him between kisses.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he teases right back before he continues lavishing affection with his lips and tongue.

“Think we might have ruined your posh couch,” she says when he pauses for air.

“I can get a new one,” he says, brushing off her attempt to return to reality.

Reality hits them over the head like a sack of bricks the next second, though, when there’s a loud knock at the door and they both jump.

“Shit!” David whispers in the direction of the sound, startled. “Who's that?”

“Dave, relax, it’s our pizza delivery.”

He cringes, closing his eyes as he realizes how silly his question was.

“Well, took them long enough,” he says with faux anger, trying to recover from embarrassment. It wasn’t really so stupid, it could have easily happened to her. Nearly did, really – it took her a moment to remember, as well. He opens his eyes again and smiles hesitantly, something he’s nervous of making his eyebrows pull together even through the grin.

“Does that mean you’re staying for dinner?” he asks quietly.

“Of course I am. Well, if I can put my clothes back on, first.”

“Right,” he chuckles with her and they share one more brief touch of their lips. The delivery bloke won’t wait out in the hall all night, will he?


End file.
